


Coming Into Focus

by EatYourSparkOut



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alt-Mode Sexual Interfacing, Body Worship, Frottage, In which science is Fun and Sexy, M/M, Oral Sex, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-07
Updated: 2017-05-18
Packaged: 2018-10-29 00:38:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10842819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EatYourSparkOut/pseuds/EatYourSparkOut
Summary: Brainstorm likes Perceptor's alt-mode. Hereallylikes Perceptor's alt-mode.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, I found Brainstorm really hard to write (*shakes fist* cooperate, damn you), but I love him and I love this pairing so I hope you enjoy these hopeless nerds.

Brainstorm and Perceptor were a _thing_ . If someone had suggested that impossibility to him a stellar cycle ago, Brainstorm would have laughed them out of the room, but astoundingly—and against all of his predictions—it'd happened. Even worse, it’d happened somehow while he wasn’t looking—crept up on him slowly, but surely—and now he was still trying to wrap his processor around the information, let alone figure out what he’d _do_ with it.

He was floundering in a sea of unknown variables and expectations, and he didn't like it.

Plus, Perceptor hadn't exactly been making it _easy_ on him. Not in the sense that he was being pushy, or overbearing; in fact, the problem was the exact opposite. He’d been so passive about the whole affair that it’d taken Brainstorm _ages_ to figure it out why he was acting weird.

When the realization finally came, he’d laughed aloud—momentarily stunned. Unfortunately for him, it'd come at an inconvenient time. He’d stopped in the middle of a precarious experiment to savor the moment, and accidentally dropped a crucial component in the process.

He’d still been cackling when the smoke cleared.

Percy was courting him. Or—he was very deliberately not-courting him. It was confusing, but wasn’t that just so _typical_ of the other scientist? Nothing could ever be simple with him.

After the whole time-travel fiasco they’d had a bit of a spark-to-spark down in the brig. Brainstorm hadn’t really expected Perceptor to visit—hoped maybe, but not expected.

After all, he’d really fragged up.

But against all odds Perceptor had shown. He’d appeared awkwardly that first day to plead his case from behind the bars, and even though Brainstorm had been a little preoccupied with his failure—with thoughts of Quark, and his own misery—his spark might have fluttered a little knowing that someone still cared enough, that _Perceptor_ cared enough to offer sympathy.

Even better, Perceptor’s main reason for coming had been to apologize—a long-winded, halting speech where he admitted that he'd underestimated Brainstorm in more ways than one, and that he’d like to make it up to him. Not just because he had recognized Brainstorm’s brilliance—because of course he had, how could he not have, he’d built a _time machine_ —but because he regretted the overly harsh attitude which he’d adopted towards him at times.

Brainstorm’s ' _yeah, you can be a real aft sometimes Perce'_ had been met with a consternated expression, but no argument.

And then the kicker. He’d admitted to _liking_ Brainstorm—dangerous experiments and ‘enormous ego’ and all, though maybe one day Perceptor would finally figure out that a lot of Brainstorm’s bluster was well, just that. He’d never admit it aloud, but his self-esteem was pretty shot these days—genius aside.

 _Still_ , the admission that Perceptor had always respected him as a scientist—had always acknowledged his intelligence, if not always his methods—went a little towards boosting it, and the admission that he'd grown used to Brainstorm’s company and missed his presence in the lab most definitely did.

Even now, Brainstorm couldn’t hold back his grin at the memory, and in the absence of self-control he was glad that his facemask helped hide it. He glanced up surreptitiously—to check that Perceptor was still occupied at the other end of the lab, and not witnessing his sappy retrospection.

Yep, still in the clear. No feelings happening here.

In the brig, Perceptor had asked hesitantly if it was too late to repair their relationship, and the way he had phrased it had sounded so business-like, like mending a relationship between colleagues— _maybe_ friends—so Brainstorm had swallowed his disappointment and agreed. _Y_ _eah sure_ , they could give it a shot.

Brainstorm hadn’t really been in the best headspace down there; he’d been feeling vulnerable after his ~~crushing defeat~~ less than successful rescue attempt, and may have admitted a few mortifying things himself—like the fact that he _didn’t_ dislike Perceptor, had in fact always admired his work, and just wanted to be acknowledged and appreciated in return.

Now, Brainstorm twitched just thinking about it, but at the time he’d felt a little vindicated by the guilt which had appeared on Perceptor’s face, so maybe it’d been worth it. Apparently, it wasn’t good to bottle things up. Emotional catharsis and all that. Or so he’d heard.

In the end, it all led back to this. Them having a _thing._

Because while Perceptor had been ever the gentlemech—repairing their working relationship by engaging Brainstorm in experiments and heated discussion, and making it painstakingly clear that he saw him as an equal—he’d also been clumsily hinting at well, _more_.

So far his strategies had included asking Brainstorm to Swerve’s for drinks on a regular basis, suggesting that they attend various scientific conferences and events together whenever the Lost Light took a pit stop, and even leaving little articles out that he evidently thought Brainstorm might find interesting.

In short, Perceptor’s methods were practically _transparent_.

Despite his best efforts, his wings gave an involuntary wiggle of delight.

Granted, he was still Percy. He still nagged, and scolded, and freaked out when Brainstorm did something a little too dangerous for his liking—even if it was in the name of _science_ —but maybe asking the other scientist to loosen up was a bit much. Brainstorm was pretty sure those exasperated sighs had become fonder than they used to be, and now he was also being treated to something which _more_ than made up for it.

Perceptor _smiled_ at him.

There were the small, knowing smiles when he responded to Brainstorm’s banter, and the enthusiastic, blinding ones when an experiment went well. Brainstorm didn’t seem to have any resistance against them either, because every time he was treated to one his struts went a little weak, and all witty retorts flew out of his helm.

Best of all, Perceptor didn’t protest anymore when Brainstorm hit on him with increasingly cheesy scientific one-liners, and he’d been taking full advantage just to see Perceptor facepalm or stammer when he was caught off-guard.

Despite all of this, Perceptor was still clearly dancing around the idea of them—and here he took a moment to snort at the mental image of Perceptor  _dancing_ —but Brainstorm wasn’t offended by the evasiveness. He’d already figured it out.

Perceptor was going through the motions. He was courting Brainstorm subtly without actually making his intentions clear, and the _why_ was as clear as day.

For once in his life, Perceptor didn’t know what to do.

 _It’s probably infuriating_ , Brainstorm noted with a small twinge of satisfaction. It wasn’t often that the other scientistfound himself at a loss.

He’d probably wanted to give Brainstorm space after the whole time-travel shebang, but he'd also wanted to move forward, and it’d left him floundering. In the end, he had compromised—decided that _stealth-dating_ was somehow the best option.

It was fragging cute how dense he could be sometimes, for all of his own genius.

Brainstorm actually felt a little warm and fuzzy when he thought about the fact that Perceptor—unflappable, steely, look-at-me-I-used-to-be-a-wrecker Perceptor—was flustered over him. Still, this wouldn’t do. Brainstorm was a bot of _action_ , and they were never going to get anywhere this way, with Perceptor reluctant to even admit his interest for fear of, what—scaring him off? _Please._

Brainstorm was definitely interested. Pit knows he’d had a crush on the unattainable microscope for years—hiding it all beneath bravado and feigned contempt, and ok yeah maybe he had a _type_ , but this one could actually work out.

Brainstorm had a shot. For once in his life things were looking up, and it was obviously up to him to move things along.

The sound of a transformation sequence engaging distracted him, and he looked out of the corner of his optic to where Perceptor had switched to using his alt-mode.

Brainstorm absently trailed his optics over the expanse of glossy red plating before him. He honed in on the way the powerful scope adjusted—slid in and out as Perceptor focused intently on whatever it was he was busy with. Yeah, he definitely had a type.

Brainstorm watched for a while, unconcerned about being caught. Percy was obviously involved in his work, and facing the other direction anyway.

He dimmed his optics—imagined what the sleek plating might feel like under his servos if he were the one turning the knobs ever so slowly, adjusting the finely tuned mechanisms of Perceptor’s frame with deliberate, teasing motions, and applying delicate pressure until he warmed beneath his touch.

Would it feel good? If Brainstorm caressed the dials as he worked—tracing seams and rubbing at intricate components appreciatively the whole while. Would Perceptor cave beneath the pressure of Brainstorm’s servos, voice his pleasure—even _encourage_ the exploratory touches?

Brainstorm could dream.

He was starting to get a little warm himself—but who could blame him? Percy’s alt-mode was a work of art. He could think of a few other things he’d like to do with it—it wasn’t like he hadn’t entertained the same thoughts about his personal collection.

“Brainstorm, I can feel your optics on me from across the room.”

_Whoops._

His first instinct was to protest.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Ah, frag. Strike one for defensive tone, and two for a completely unoriginal denial.

Perceptor transformed back to root mode and swung around to look at him—clearly unimpressed.

“You’ve been staring at me for approximately 5.47 breems. Would you care to enlighten me as to what has garnered your attention? Because frankly I am beginning to grow uncomfortable.”

You could always count on Percy to get straight to the point.

Brainstorm fumbled, but with the weight of that raised optic-ridge upon him—not to mention the difficulty he was having keeping his fans offline—it was understandable.

“I like your alt-mode,” he admitted finally. Go big, or go home right?

Whatever Perceptor had been expecting, it obviously hadn’t been that. He cycled his optics.

“What?”

Surprisingly inarticulate for the scientist. Yeah, Brainstorm could work with this.

“Your alt-mode. I like it,” he repeated enthusiastically, and if anything, Perceptor looked more consternated.

“You’ve been observing me for no other reason than the fact that you find my alt-mode... appealing?” asked Perceptor dubiously, as though he still suspected Brainstorm of having an ulterior motive.

Alright, fair enough.

Brainstorm shrugged, unoffended.

“Honestly Percy, I just like watching you work. It’s sexy.”

Go _really_ big, or go home. He’d been found out anyway, maybe confessing would actually speed things along—get Perceptor to finally make a move.

Perceptor sputtered.

“ _Excuse me?_ ”

He was pretty cute when he was flustered. His mouth opened and closed a few times, as though he wanted to say something else, but couldn't quite find the words.

Brainstorm vowed to make more of an effort to get this kind of reaction from the stoic scientist—as if it wasn’t already one of his ongoing goals.

“Gee Percy, if I knew a compliment was gonna rob you of your impressive vocabulary I mighta held that one back,” he ribbed, with a good-natured grin that he hoped translated to his optics.

“I fail to see how a microscope would prove arousing in any capacity,” Perceptor finally managed.

“Oh _p_ _lease_ , Percy. You’re a microscope; you’re like, literally the personification of science. What’s not to like about that?” he asked. “Plus you’re all smooth and shiny. I just wanna run my fingers all over your plating.” 

The admission was a bit much maybe, but Brainstorm had long ago given up on his processor-to-mouth filter and decided that it was just best to commit to whatever came out.  

“You... are sexually attracted to my alt-mode,” deadpanned Perceptor.

Brainstorm sidled a little closer. Perceptor was already backed up against the table, but it didn’t look like he was ready to run away just yet, so he pressed his advantage.

“Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it. Letting someone else tweak your knobs?” he wheedled.

The look Perceptor shot him was imperceptible, but Brainstorm liked to think that he was at least entertaining the idea.

"...for science?" he added.

“I’ve volunteered the use of my alt-mode on many occasions, in order to assist with joint projects. It’s hardly something out of the ordinary,” responded Perceptor flatly.

Good thing Brainstorm wasn’t one to give up that easily.

“You know perfectly well what I _meant_. What’s a bot gotta do to get your attention, hm? How does one gain the privilege of... handling your equipment?” he insinuated with an exaggerated wink. Perceptor looked taken aback, as if he’d never considered that Brainstorm might be the one to proposition _him_. Not seriously at any rate.

“Well, I—”, stammered Perceptor, and Brainstorm forged ahead.

“C'mon Percy, let me have a go. It’ll be _fun_.” He paused for a moment. “Unless I’ve got the wrong idea, in which case you’re gonna want to clarify right now. There’s only so many times you can ask a guy out before he starts to get a certain impression, and I think we’ve hit that point.”

Perceptor’s expression had shifted to something closer to abashment.

“No, your reasoning is... sound. I have indeed been attempting to express my interest in you in a more than platonic fashion,” he admitted.

The combination of relief and excitement which flooded Brainstorm was almost palpable.

“Great! So, whaddya say? Tell me you don’t wanna see what these hands can do.” Brainstorm wiggled his fingers for emphasis.

“The thought isn’t entirely without appeal,” Perceptor conceded with a cough.

_Excellent._

Brainstorm stepped even closer, now within reach of the other scientist. He knew that his optics were probably blazing. Primus, had he really gotten this far? Was this actually happening?

“Well then, let’s do this thing,” he crowed, before his doubts could get the better of him. Like the pit he was letting this opportunity slip away from him.

“Here?” Perceptor asked incredulously “Brainstorm, it’s an entirely inappropriate venue for the kind of activity you’re suggesting.”

There he was. Pragmatic Perceptor.

“It’s a lab! No better place for a microscope. I’ll even lock the door,” Brainstorm insisted.

Perceptor still looked a little baffled, but now uncertainty had begun to cloud his face as well.

Gah. What now?

Brainstorm was itching to get his servos on that gorgeous frame, and it didn’t seem like any of Perceptor’s hang-ups were due to lack of interest—so what gave?

“While I’m… flattered that you enjoy my form so much, are you positive that this is the best course of action? I had intended to take this slow,” explained Perceptor.

Brainstorm resisted the urge to laugh.

“Yeah, yeah I know. You’re trying to give me space or whatever. Trying to be _proper_ and ask me on dates so I feel like a special bot, but not actually admitting it—which, let’s get one thing clear here, is super counterproductive, and not at all effective, so you should seriously review your methods—but I don’t _care_ about that Percy,” he said exasperatedly. "I mean, I’ll gladly take the dates and it’ll be _awesome_ , but right now I just really wanna frag you.”

His bluntness must have caught Perceptor off-guard, because judging from the wide optics the other scientist was still nowhere close to regaining his composure.

“I was trying to be considerate,” he said a little stiffly, but it seemed born more out of awkwardness than anything else. “I didn’t wish to infringe on your period of mourning, and thought it prudent to give you time—rather than rush into a relationship and hurt you in the process.”

Brainstorm wondered once again how someone so smart could be so _dense_. Had Perceptor ever considered asking him?

“Percy, give me a _break_. I know you, and more importantly I know what I want. I’m a grown mech—you don’t have to treat me like I’m _delicate_ just because I had a bad month,” he countered.

Ok, fine. Understatement. Brainstorm was still pretty upset about the whole thing, but he was trying to move _on,_ damn it.

“Look, it’s not like you’re every mech’s dream. I mean Primus knows you’re a killjoy, and I’m not gonna lie, your badgering makes me want to chuck beakers at you on a regular basis. You’re stiff, you’re awkward, you’re blunt; you go off on tangents which devolve into lectures that most people in the room can’t even _understand_ , let alone want to,” he ranted, throwing his servos up into the air.

Perceptor was starting to look affronted, and Brainstorm elected to hurry things up.

“What I’m saying is, you’re all of those things, but I still _like_ you. You don’t have to hold off on account of me being a—a grieving widow or whatever,” he insisted. “I’ve been carrying a torch for you for ages. And yeah, fine—I’m not over the Quark thing, but it just happened and it was fragging traumatic, and I don’t know if I’ll ever be over it, but I’m not gonna let it hold me back.”

If Brainstorm wasn’t mistaken—which he rarely was—that was the corner of Perceptor’s mouth quirking up. He rushed to finish.

“I still want you,” he offered, quieter this time. “Quark and I weren’t ever a thing—as much as I wanted to be—but you? You’re here, and this is real, and I wanna see where it goes.”

“...even if you’re an aft,” he added for good measure.

Perceptor mulled that over for a few seconds.

“You really would like this? To simply explore my form, and not receive pleasure in return?” he asked.

“Well now, I never said anything about _that_.”

Oh no, if this was happening, then Brainstorm had _plans_.

Perceptor raised an eyebrow, and that sardonic gaze put them back in familiar territory.

“Hey, you know me. If there's anything I am—besides brilliant of course—it's _creative_. Have a little faith Percy,” said Brainstorm with another jaunty wink.

Apparently it was enough to make up Perceptor’s mind, exasperated huff aside.

“Alright,” he agreed cautiously. “What is it that you propose?”

This time, the grin that spread across Brainstorm’s face was nothing short of devious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun stuff to occur in the next chapter ;)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow your dreams Brainstorm. You fuck that microscope good. 
> 
> Visual reference if anyone needs help figuring out the logistics: http://tfarchive.com/toys/reviews/images/reiss_perceptor_alt.jpg
> 
> It's a toy, but I think it's close enough ;)

Perceptor seemed to have gathered himself for the most part, but as Brainstorm lay his faceplate down on the table he didn't miss the way the other scientist looked with rapt attention at his rarely exposed mouth.

_Like that, huh? Yeah you do._

Brainstorm let the corner of said mouth curl up in a small smirk, but Perceptor didn’t look away—as he’d half-expected—only returned the gaze with slightly darkened optics.

Brainstorm couldn’t help the little shiver that raced up his spinal strut. Maybe Percy wasn’t so reserved in the berth after all.

And didn’t that just set his circuits to tingling?

In the end, it was Brainstorm who dragged his optics away to break the steadily building tension. He looked critically at the space available to them, before quickly deciding that it was fine. Winging it was his specialty after all. He clapped his servos together, and rubbed them excitedly.

“Right here’ll do,” he announced, to where Perceptor was still waiting against the table. “Go ahead and transform, and—you can still mass shift yeah? Get a little _bigger_ why don’t you?” Brainstorm stepped back to give the other scientist more room.

Another quirk of that mildly intimidating eyebrow-ridge, but Percy wordlessly did as he was told, and after a brief transformation sequence—the shifting parts music to Brainstorm’s audials—there was a _very_ compelling microscope sitting before him.

Brainstorm didn’t waste any time.

He walked around the microscope—appreciating the way the slightly larger scale allowed him to better view individual details. Perceptor differed from a standard microscope in several ways, but the basic design was still there and it was all so _tempting_. Where should he start?

Brainstorm reached out and ghosted his fingers along the scope—something which would receive his _full_ attention later—trailing downwards and curling them around the nosepiece in a teasing caress.

Perceptor was still playing it cool—seemingly unaffected—but Brainstorm could see the faint quiver of his stage as he made his way farther down and treated one of the clips to a light pinch.

Promising results.

Brainstorm crouched and took the clip between his fingers. He rubbed slowly— making sure that each soft scrape was dragged out for maximum effect.

“Brainstorm,” came Perceptor’s slightly tinny, and shaky voice through his speakers. “Is this entirely—ah—necessary? ” he asked.    

“Of _course_ it is,” Brainstorm responded, adopting an attitude of mock-affront. “We can’t just rush into things without establishing a few base readings. We could throw off all of the data!” The data here being which of the many enticing features on Perceptor’s frame were the most sensitive and/or exploitable.

Diaphragm was a good start, if the shudder Brainstorm got when he reached underneath to palm it was any indication. When Perceptor spoke again, it was decidedly more strained.

“Yes, but this is a time-sensitive endeavor, wouldn’t you agree?” he argued weakly. “There are more... pressing matters to attend to.”

Oh, that was cute, but they’d be overloading when Brainstorm decided it was time, and not a klik before. This was _his_ show.

“ _Percy_. Are you suggesting that I skip crucial steps?” he gasped dramatically. “We've committed ourselves to science, and all of it’s carefully applied—and tedious—methods. I never thought I’d see the day _you_ were the one to suggest that we cut corners. I’m astounded, really.”

To punctuate the statement, Brainstorm reached around to fiddle with—fondle really—the coarse adjustment knob, in a painstakingly slow turn which finally drew a soft moan from Perceptor. A few rougher spins, and he was graced with another one—louder this time, though still muffled, as though Perceptor were embarrassed by his reaction to being... _handled_.

Brainstorm’s armor was suddenly feeling much too small; a pressing need was burning its way through his lines and it left him feeling coiled tight. The arousal which had been simmering below the surface of his armor since the start of their conversation flared as Brainstorm acknowledged that _he_ was the one drawing those noises from his esteemed ~~colleague~~ ~~crush~~ rival. His plating shifted, venting steam with an audible hiss. His engine had begun to whine faintly.

Maybe Percy had a point.

Brainstorm stood up again, and he glanced at the arm of the microscope, which was much flatter and broader than the norm. Easily capable of supporting a mech’s weight—comfortably even—and now an excellent idea was dawning on him.

_Oh yes. That’ll do._

Brainstorm maneuvered himself into position—enjoying the confused slant to Perceptor’s field—and swung a leg over to the other side of the microscope so that he could park his aft right on the convenient platform.

Perceptor’s field smoothed out as he caught on—making the switch to a pleasant buzz which nudged at Brainstorm encouragingly.

If someone had told him an hour ago that he’d be straddling sophisticated scientific equipment with the sole intention of getting off—well, ok Brainstorm wouldn’t have been too surprised actually—but if they’d claimed that said equipment was going to be _Perceptor_ he would have laughed them right out of his workshop.  

He was still half-convinced that this was one of his elaborate fantasies, but the distinct sensation of hot and thrumming— _alive_ —metal beneath him argued otherwise. An insistent twinge from his valve suggested that he stop ruminating uselessly and _do something_ , so Brainstorm shook off his distraction and rapped at the tantalizing scope before him.

“Lower this for me,” he suggested, and Perceptor was quick to comply—adjusting the scope so that the eyepiece was within reach. Brainstorm rewarded him by sliding a servo down and around to pay a little attention to the fine adjustment knob. He tweaked it between his fingers and twisted sharply—relishing the small groan that it produced.

Brainstorm gave up on maintaining any semblance of restraint. His panels snapped back with an audible click and he immediately ground down against the hard surface. A significant amount of lubricants dripped from his open array, and Perceptor’s fans shifted to a roar when Brainstorm ground down again and smeared it across his plating.

The ensuing vibrations ratcheted Brainstorm’s own arousal up a notch, and he took his spike in hand—making sure to press his anterior node down into the sensation as he squeezed decadently. His mouth fell open, and he rocked forward into his fist, trying to hold back the whine that threatened to emerge.

“Brainstorm,”—and Perceptor’s voice was really rough now, wow— “Please continue before I overheat and damage any crucial components.”

Brainstorm acquiesced—remembering why he had asked Percy to move the scope in the first place. He leaned forward and mouthed at the rim of the eyepiece, savoring the broken moan that followed. He chased after the sound with his glossa—dragging it across the rim before dipping inside to sweep across sensitive glass. This time, Brainstorm echoed the noise that it generated, and he began to stroke his spike earnestly.

“Brainstorm, please,” came the strained response, along with a crackle of charge which lit up his sensors as it raced across their contact points. _Ooh, that was nice._ That was very, _very_ nice, and Brainstorm could definitely use some more of _that_.

He fondled the scope like a spike. He curled his fingers around the cylinder and pressed in with his thumbs, kneading at the metal until he had urged more than one choked noise from the microscope.

Brainstorm wrapped his legs around the scope—and Primus, humping a sexy red microscope hadn’t been on his itinerary today, but he was _not_ going to complain. He nearly whimpered as he pulled himself forward and pressed the span of it across his aching array.

His hips rolled helplessly, and the searing heat between his thighs shot straight to his spark. Brainstorm grabbed at the scope to steady himself—arching back with a soft sound and discovering a new angle which delivered the perfect amount of pressure to his node.

“Ohh, that’s good—that’s _perfect_ ,” breathed Brainstorm, and Perceptor merely spat static in return.

It was true; the unyielding length was ideal for grinding against. Sure, the angle was a little awkward, but once he got a good rhythm going Brainstorm was floating on a sea of bliss.

He slipped a few times—receiving amused huffs in response—and his own giggles turned quickly to groans as he readjusted.

Pleasure curled up and infiltrated each and every one of Brainstorm’s circuits. It built languidly—rolling through his lines in heady waves—and he didn’t try to rush it. Tightening his thighs around the base drew a staticky moan from the both of them, and lubricant trickled down from his array to ensure that the slide was nothing short of ecstatic. He squeezed harder, putting pressure on his node and spike alike until heat coiled around his spark like a vice.

And then—unsurprisingly—Brainstorm had a moment of genius.

“Hey Percy,” he gasped, and he took the weak flickering of biolights as response enough. “Next time, you think we could get it so that you see my valve?”

The implications alone were almost enough to tip him into overload. Rearranging themselves would take a little creativity, but the thought of Perceptor being able to watch every ripple of his calipers, and every drop of lubricant as it beaded and ran down—it was dirty, it was tempting, it was— _oh slag_.

Brainstorm whimpered as the inevitable overload finally washed over him, and he clutched at the scope in front of him for support—dragging a shocked noise from Perceptor. He rolled his hips into it, trying to prolong the pleasure which swelled until finally— _finally_ it crested, leaving both his frame and spark trembling.

He slumped forward—his array pulsing weakly—but Perceptor’s scope was positioned too low to provide a comfortable place to rest his helm, and after a few moments he slipped off the microscope to flop onto the floor.

One transformation sequence later, and Brainstorm had a very hot and bothered mech sitting sprawled before him.

Brainstorm inwardly prided himself on the way the charge crackled at Perceptor’s seams, and how his straining fans practically drowned out any other noise in the lab. He was well and truly desperate for a release of his own.

He grinned, and waggled his eyebrow-ridges in an obvious, over-the-top acknowledgement of Perceptor’s state—knowing full well that it would probably bug him—but merely received a snort in return.

“Your earlier idea was not without merit,” Perceptor admitted with a small, wry smile, and he didn’t even comment on Brainstorm’s deliberately crass gesture.

“...I’ll keep it in mind,” replied Brainstorm, in a way that implied he’d do a lot more than that.

He shot a glance at Perceptor’s array, his panels having popped during the transformation. He focused his attention on the straining spike—and boy was it a nice spike, all thick and red with subtle black geometric patterns and enticing turquoise biolights running down its length. Brainstorm had no doubts that it’d feel _great_ plugging up his valve.

He shook off the fantasy before it could really get rolling.

 _Gotta focus._ _Plenty of time for that later._

Brainstorm allowed himself another small, coy smile, and this time he deliberately flicked his glossa at one of his cheek cavities. Perceptor tracked the movement intently.

_Ooh yeah. We got ‘im._

Ten to one odds said that Percy was busy imagining what his spike would look like peeking out from behind the obvious gaps.

“Need some help with that?” asked Brainstorm, punctuating the statement with a nod at Perceptor’s obvious arousal.

Perceptor started, and—was that a blush rising on his cheekplates? Well, _well_.

“Why _Perceptor_ , I didn’t know the prospect of interface made you so _flustered_ ,” ribbed Brainstorm, but he couldn't keep the awe entirely from his voice. Imagine that. Cool and collected Percepor all off-balance because of him.

Perceptor huffed.

“Contrary to popular belief, I do have a fair amount of interfacing experience,” he said with some indignation. His expression softened slightly. “You however, have always managed to upset my expectations, and it is exceedingly disconcerting.”

Brainstorm knew that his glee shone through his optics at the admission, but Perceptor was practically admitting to his crush—in his own stilting way—so who could fault him?

“I’ll gladly accept your offer,” Perceptor added, before re-positioning himself so that he was kneeling.

Brainstorm inched forward, and he was surprised by the servo which reached out and grabbed him by the chestplate—only to pull him into a firm kiss.

And slag, was Percy a good kisser. He used just the right amount of pressure—starting slow, but not afraid to open up and go deep, or to lick his way into the very cheeks which Brainstorm had just been showing off. He let Perceptor take hold of the winglets on his front, and moaned softly when they were given a thorough exploration.

When Perceptor finally broke it off, his tone was colored with mild amusement.

“I believe that one is generally supposed to _start_ with such an action,” he noted.

Brainstorm knew his mouth was hanging open, and that was just unacceptable. He cleared his vocalizer and attempted a weak retort.

“Well, I think the way _I_ started things was much more memorable in the long run.”

“...it’s not a competition Brainstorm.”

“Sure,” he agreed mildly, and then he licked his lips—returning his attention to the enticing spike which jutted out before him. It was time to shut Perceptor up before this devolved any further.  

Brainstorm shuffled down so that he was positioned between a pair of very nice, _very_ solid thighs, which he then grasped and nudged open. Perceptor's vents stalled, and Brainstorm glanced up to meet overbright optics; it thrilled him to see that Perceptor wanted him so blatantly.

He opened his mouth slowly—giving Percy a fleeting view of what was to come—and without further ado enveloped the tip of his spike in what was undoubtedly welcome and deliciously wet heat.

Perceptor groaned encouragingly as Brainstorm wrapped his lips around the end, laving at the underside with his glossa. Perceptor tasted like the lab—clean, and well-maintained, a combination of hot metal and acrid chemicals—and it shouldn’t have been appealing, but it was.

Brainstorm dipped his helm, taking Perceptor deeper and enjoying the way his field fluctuated, before finally settling—blanketing them both in a heady mix of desire and appreciation. Contrary to popular belief, cheeks like his could utilize suction, and he took advantage of that in order to suckle slowly—decadently even—at the spike resting heavy on his glossa.

Perceptor’s hips jerked, but he refrained from shoving his spike any deeper, for which Brainstorm was grateful. The choked utterance of his name quickly got his own fans sputtering again.

It wasn’t _enough_ though—wasn’t all that he wanted.

Brainstorm slipped off abruptly, and the ensuing groan of disappointment sent another jolt of arousal coursing through his lines.

“Talk to me,” he said, and it wasn’t a _beg_.

Perceptor’s vocalizer was rough with denied release.

“What do you want me to say?”

“Anything. _Everything._  I just like the sound of your voice,” admitted Brainstorm. “You could make the dullest lab report sound sexy.”

Perceptor nodded, a flush still high on his cheekplates, and this time as Brainstorm engulfed the spike his moan was deliberate—allowing the vibrations to travel up the length. He flicked his glossa over the slit at the end, and Perceptor’s fingers curled against his own thighs.

“Oh, yes. Brainstorm that’s _perfect_ ,” he gasped, and the praise went straight to his head—leaving him to repeat the motion almost desperately. When Perceptor’s thighs began to tremble Brainstorm sought out hidden sensors; he delved beneath ridges and along the grooves of his biolights to tease them to life.

“You’ve always had a clever glossa,” Perceptor said breathlessly—unable to wholly conceal his amusement—and Brainstorm retaliated by pressing said glossa against the slit until Perceptor squirmed and gasped.

See, the thing was, Brainstorm _loved_ sucking spike. He loved the feel of one throbbing hard and heavy on his glossa. He loved the power it gave him over another mech, and the fact that he could draw out their overload until they were so desperate that he could literally taste it. He loved the way they admired his cheeks, and how they would watch him slide their spikes all the way down and swallow.

But above all he loved their _words—_ loved the praise and admiration for his skill. Perceptor’s acknowledgment of it left him practically giddy.

“You’ve got such a lovely mouth. You should really let me see it more often,” murmured Perceptor as he reached out to thumb the point where red plating shone through. It must have been a stark contrast to Brainstorm’s orange, and Perceptor’s decision to draw attention to the sight couldn’t be anything but a pointed reminder of what they were doing.

Brainstorm whimpered as heat flooded his circuits, and the weight of Perceptor’s realization was almost tangible when he figured out what Brainstorm really wanted.

Perceptor reached out and slid a servo behind his helm. He carefully nudged his spike deeper with a roll of his hips—softly, meticulously, but not in a way which brooked argument. In a few movements he took control, gently but surely, and Brainstorm followed—helpless to resist.

He practically whined around the spike as it pushed deeper. Oh Primus, this wasn’t fair at all. This was _exactly_ the right way to get his engines revving, and the best way to leave him a sated, melted mess on the floor when all was done.

Brainstorm’s plating was staticky with charge. Arousal boiled under his armor as Perceptor guided him firmly—encouraged him to bob his helm and then watched as the oral lubricant begin to seep through his cheeks.

“Good. That’s _very_ good. But you can take me deeper, can’t you?” Perceptor asked, and Brainstorm’s spark burned. He did his best to swallow more of the spike—looked up through dim and desperate optics. Perceptor used his other hand to trace the lines of his cheek again, no doubt watching his spike slide further.

The other hand released his helm and ventured downwards. Knuckles brushed against Brainstorm’s chin, and he couldn’t see but he just _knew_ that Perceptor had begun massaging his node. The spike pressed down his intake now, and the lining of it had begun to flutter weakly. His derma sat flush with the housing.

“Excellent work Brainstorm, as usual,” Perceptor murmured, and that was what finally set him off, a desperate moan wrenching itself from deep within as he ground down against the floor. Perceptor’s face was set in blissful concentration—his optics bleached nearly white and mouth parted.

Brainstorm deliberately closed his throat cabling around the spike; he swallowed deep and enjoyed Perceptor’s shout as he dragged his partner into an abrupt overload. Transfluid spurted hot and cloying against the back of his intake, and Brainstorm drank it down gladly—trying to prolong Perceptor’s fun for as long as possible.

When it was over, Perceptor carefully withdrew, and Brainstorm took the chance to sit up and massage his aching jaw. He’d be feeling that one for a while, but it’d been worth it— _slag_ had it been worth it. He wiped absently at the remnants of transfluid seeping from one of his cheeks and almost missed, servos trembling.

His charge was still nowhere near satisfied.

“Brainstorm.”

He looked up at the sound of his name, and had only a few seconds to parse Perceptor’s intense gaze before he was being dragged into another kiss. Brainstorm sunk into it—let Percy tilt his helm and deepen it until he grew a little faint.

_I think I’ve died and gone to the well. One of my experiments finally did me in. It’s the only plausible explanation._

When they broke apart, Brainstorm’s fans were stuttering, and his array was pinging him insistently—reminding him of the state he’d left it in.

“I don’t know about you, but I think blowbjobs in a lab are a _great_ first time,” he managed weakly, as his own spike throbbed in sympathy

The corner of Percy’s mouth quirked up slightly—practically a full-fledged grin for him. He nodded at Brainstorm’s array in a pantomime of his earlier offer.

“...would you like some assistance with that?”

A short laugh burst forth from Brainstorm before he could stop it.

_Oh yeah, I could get used to this._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap! This was 100% self-indulgent fun, and I hope you all enjoyed :D


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